


The Box

by sunshine (sunshinepiveh)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5234078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinepiveh/pseuds/sunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock has a box he keeps hidden. A box of memories. A place to keep things that are too much to bear.</p>
<p>This story was first published in the KiSCon Zine of 2015. It was beta'd by littlemonkfish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Box

When he'd started dating Jim, Spock hadn't been concerned about The Box. It was stored in his closet, and there was no reason for Jim to become aware of it. In fact, he'd been rather close with Nyota and _she'd_ never noticed it. And so most of the time, the secret of his box didn't even cross his mind.

 

 

 

~~ * ~~

 

 

 

Jim, for his part, was bouncing out of his skin the first time Spock had really let him in his quarters. Oh, he'd spoken to the Vulcan several times at Spock's door, and had once been invited as far as the small sitting room, where they'd both stood to finish their conversation, before leaving. Even that small taste had excited him beyond reason. Spock, his best-friend-boyfriend-obsession Spock, was just so infinitely interesting. He'd been dying to see some of Spock's personal affects. But Spock _wa_ s Vulcan, so while Jim was maybe a little disappointed, he wasn't exactly surprised when there were none to be found.

 

 

 

_“I just want to see it!” he'd bounced._

 

_“I assure you, Captain, there is nothing to see.”_

 

_“Spooooock.”_

 

_“Captain.”_

 

_Jim's eyes had darted from side to side, and then Jim himself had darted into the room past his stoic friend to get his own look around. Could Spock have stopped him if he'd really wanted to? Trivially. But Spock had allowed Jim to have his look and satisfy his curiosity. He hadn't been lying. There really was nothing to see._

 

 

 

And now Jim was seeing just that. Spock's room was strikingly utilitarian. The only decorations Jim could see in evidence were a book he'd given Spock himself, and an interesting-looking bowl that he later found out to be a gift from Nyota Uhura. Everything, right down to the blankets on Spock's bed, were standard Starfleet issue. It made him blink the first time he realized just how stark Spock's room was, but he took it in stride. After all, the lack of decoration was just as much part of Spock's personality as decorations themselves would have been. It was _him_ that Jim was in love with.

 

 

 

~~ * ~~

 

 

 

It was one and a half months into their official dating relationship that Jim had wanted to spend the night in Spock's room. Spock enjoyed his privacy, and he enjoyed being in Jim's room. Jim's room was full of _Jim_ , vibrant colours and objects that captured the imagination and explained nuanced facets of the man. Spock's room, by contrast, was hollow. Empty. It made him... not _uncomfortable_ , because that was an emotion he did not allow himself. But he certainly preferred Jim's room.

 

“I do not understand why we cannot simply maintain our routine of spending the night in your quarters, Captain.”

 

“Spock, if we're talking about where we're going to sleep together, you don't have to call me Captain.”

 

“Yes, Captain.”

 

Jim sighed. “Look, I just _want_ to, alright? What's wrong with sleeping in your bed sometimes? Do you not want me there?” Jim bit the inside of his cheek in a flash of raw vulnerability he didn't show to many aside from Spock, and the Vulcan's heart melted a little.

 

“Of course I want you there, _ashaya_ ,” he admitted, because he would deny Jim nothing. He hoped that Jim's vibrancy could shine through his dull grey walls.

 

For his own part, Jim immediately perked back up, his inner five year old overjoyed at the prospect of a sleepover at Spock's place.

 

And Spock, in preparation, simply made certain that his closet door was closed.

 

 

 

~~ * ~~

 

 

 

While Spock didn't think of The Box at all times, he was always a careful person. He'd never moved his clothes in or out of his closet in front of Jim, at least not with the door opened widely enough to expose The Box. It was an easy habit to adopt. He'd never asked for Jim to get him something out of the closet, and when he _had_ asked Jim to fetch something from another room, he was always clear about its location. He'd never allowed Jim to leave his own jacket in his closet, though Jim had never actually tried to do so -- simply throwing his clothes over the bed or a chair or the floor as he saw fit. And so Spock never actually thought he'd have to address this issue at all. But he hadn't accounted for the fact that Jim was _not_ Nyota. Jim was a five year old playing at being an adult, and while Spock saw this as an endearing quality 99% of the time... it apparently had its drawbacks.

 

He realized his oversight as soon as he walked into his bedroom to see Jim _not_ in the bed reading as he'd left him 2.4 hours ago, when he'd left to take care of an emergency in the labs. No, instead Jim had pulled open seemingly every drawer and door Spock had owned, simply to satiate his own curiosity. Now Jim looked up innocently from his perch at the closet floor and smiled when he saw his partner. “Hey, Spock!” he smiled. “What's the deal with the case?” He gestured at the thick, black, Starfleet issue destruction-resistant box on the closet floor. The one Spock had never meant anyone to find out about, and certainly didn't want to discuss.

 

Jim stared up, and saw a rare deer-in-the-headlights look from his Vulcan friend. Maybe some people wouldn't see the difference, would see Vulcan impassivity at all times, but Jim had been dating Spock for a while now and knew all the subtleties of that face. “Spock?” he questioned, beginning to get worried. Shit. Shit, he'd broken Spock. He wasn't sure how he'd done it, but he had no doubt that it was his fault.

 

And Spock, for once in his life, had _no_ idea what to say. He felt... something, that if he were human might be akin to panic, but he didn't allow himself to feel it for very long. Instead, he simply turned and walked out of the bedroom, and into his sitting room. His eyes were on the door to leave his quarters altogether when his brain caught up to the illogic of what he was doing. He was actually running away. Where would he go? Where would he possibly walk to right this instant that would make this okay? Could he simply, in fact, walk around the halls of the ship and come back to his room and have the problem magically disappear?

 

Jim was a step behind. “Hey. Shit. Spock! Wait up. Is it because I went through your stuff? Listen, I'll put it all back in order. If I overstepped some line or something....” His voice quavered with real worry that he'd done something truly Not Okay by Vulcan standards, or at least by Spock standards.

 

Spock sighed. He actually audibly sighed, and Jim knew that was not a good sign. “Captain. Jim. No, you have not... you have done only what... that is, you are curious by nature and I should have foreseen --” He pinched the bridge of his nose as his eyes came closed in a rarely seen display of actual distress.

 

Jim wrapped his arms around his mate and kissed his neck. Gently, he said “Listen, it's okay. Whatever it is. I'm sorry I upset you.”

 

Spock was silent for a long moment, simply feeling Jim's arms around him, holding him, grounding him. “It is not you,” he finally said quietly.

 

“Hm?” Jim had lost the thread of the conversation, content to just hold Spock awkwardly as they stood in the middle of the sitting room for as long as it took.

 

“My distress is largely not based around something you have done.”

 

“Oh?” Jim blinked in confusion. “Then what...”

 

“The box.”

 

Jim blinked. What box? Oh! The black box in the closet? Confusion swam over him even more. “What about it?

 

“I did not strictly obtain permission for it when I borrowed it from the storage area, and I will accept a reprimand if you indeed --”

 

“Spock, Spock!” Jim laughed and stopped him. “You stole a box? Is that why you're freaking out? Listen, I really don't care. You can have it.” He laughed again. “Is that what this is all about?”

 

And of course, it wasn't. He had been deflecting, unintentionally. His mind was... scattered. “Negative,” he said at last.

 

Jim's confusion was overwhelming at this point. “Then what's the _problem_?”

 

Spock reluctantly pulled away from Jim and stared at him for another uncomfortably silent moment. “Perhaps it would be easier if I just showed you,” he admitted, and led the way back into the bedroom, where there were no decorations on the walls, and the room was in disarray, and the closet door was open, and there sat The Box.

 

Reverently, Spock knelt beside it and dialled in the code that sprung its lock with a gentle click. Following Spock's lead, Jim knelt down beside him on the floor, a million questions swimming through his mind. But he kept silent. This was obviously important somehow to the Vulcan, so he would wait, and he would listen.

 

When Spock opened the lid, he began pulling things out slowly. Gently.

 

The first was a quilt, Jim saw, folded neatly and laid atop everything else. Next came two robes -- one old and worn, another exquisitely ornate. A tin of Vulcan tooth powder. A wooden comb with delicate etchings on its handle. Some sort of weapon made of cloth and heavy weights. A knife. A full tea set and two tins of Vulcan spice tea. A single packet of incense, partly empty.

 

Jim watched with confusion at first, and then dawning comprehension as he saw the scattered array of items removed from the chest. There were more, small things, simple things. Each one was held reverently and placed on the ground around them as if it were the most important thing in the entire world.

 

And to Spock, Jim knew, they probably were.

 

They were the last bits of Vulcan that Spock owned.

 

 

 

~~ * ~~

 

 

 

_It had taken several nights until Spock had even processed the fact that they'd lost T'Khasi. All of it. Forever. And so he couldn't be blamed for using his rare and precious hygiene products those first few nights after. He could not logically be blamed, but once he realized what he'd done, of course he blamed himself for his oversight._

 

_He was brushing his teeth as he'd always done, just before bed, when everything seemed to stop. He stared at the tin of powder before him, so different from Terran toothpaste, full of the clays and spices of his homeworld, when he realized -- when the tin was empty, it would never be refilled._

 

_Spock stared at the tin, his breathing unregulated and panicked, and rare tears threatening to break free of his eyes, though he did not allow them. For a moment, he wasn't even certain what to do with the damp paste still in his mouth, on his brush. His heart ached in his side as he rinsed it all away. Precious Vulcan clay and spice down the drain. Fragments of his planet that he was continuing to destroy. It was illogical -- they were simply atoms like everything else. But they were Vulcan._

 

_It was with wide eyes that he stared around his bathroom after that, and with unsteady steps that he entered his private quarters and continued to observe how many things he owned that were part of Vulcan. And for the first time since he'd entered a starship, he noted how fragile the ship was around him._

 

_During battles and natural phenomena alike he'd never felt as vulnerable on a ship as he did now. Because if the ship should be destroyed, so would all of his belongings, and then there would be even less of his planet than there was now. Wildly, he thought perhaps to send it all to Earth to be kept safe, out of space, but no. Earth, like Vulcan, could disappear. It nearly had._

 

_And so it was in the middle of the night that he moved through the halls of the_ Enterprise _and down to the storage area, taking one of the empty destruction-resistant boxes without any permission obtained, without any justifiable reason according to Starfleet regulations. It was the only time in his entire life that he'd stolen, and he didn't care._

 

_He gathered nearly every single thing he owned and placed each item one-by-one into The Box, where they would be safe. Then he hid The Box in the closet, where he could open it sometimes, before or after he'd meditated, and remember. It left his rooms barren and empty of all his memories and comforts of home, empty of all the gifts he'd received through the years and trinkets he'd acquired for himself, empty of even the most basic comforts such as tooth powder and hair oil. And in their place he simply filled in the gaps with Starfleet regulation toothpaste and soap, blankets and mugs. He shut a part of himself away into The Box._

 

 

 

~~ * ~~

 

 

 

“It is perhaps not logical,” Spock confessed, one step away from tears but holding them at bay.

 

“Of course it's logical,” Jim said in hushed tones, grabbing Spock's hand and holding it tightly, anchoring them both. Spice tea from spices that may as well be extinct, and some that were. A carving of an animal Jim had never seen and didn't know whether it had survived anywhere in the universe. And the quilt? It so clearly had to have been made by Amanda.

 

“Perhaps, then, it is selfish,” Spock amended. “I could submit some of the items to the historical preservation efforts. The antiques. I could submit some of the more mundane items to the efforts to analyse and recreate them.”

 

“Fuck that,” Jim said in a surprisingly hard tone, gripping Spock's hand all the more tightly. “These are yours.”

 

Spock closed his eyes, a sort of relief sweeping through him. “Yes.” They _were_ his. They were his memories and his burden. Something that comforted and caused pain in equal measure. Something that he kept tucked away in a box where they would be safe and not a constant reminder. And Jim now knew why Spock's room was so stark. Why everything he owned was Starfleet issue. Why he'd stolen for the first time in his life -- a simple box out of storage.

 

Perhaps one day Spock would know why he kept all these things, kept them all together in a box. Kept them as if equally ashamed and reverent of them. Perhaps one day he would know what to _do_ with these things.

 

But today, he was simply grateful when Jim so carefully helped him to lift and store each item back in its place, and stash the box back into the closet. It was enough. Someday, he would properly deal with all of this. But for now, the magnitude of his grief was still too raw and expansive. For now, he had a box.


End file.
